Emmaline breathed a sigh of relief as she saw Neil climb over the wall and drop down into the alleyway. Her skin crawled and she was struck with and overpowering desire to visit Marieunburg or Tratino or Cathy for that matter. So far there had been no alarm raised, doing so would be more dangerous for the merchant who owned the house than it would be for the abortive thieves afterall and even gunfire and shattering glass were not so strange during blackpowder week that it attracted more than curious glances. Emmaline and Neil climbed back into their carriage and set off. They looked disheveled and Emmaline was missing her cloak, but fortunately the driver drew a predictable but entirely incorrect conclusion, grinning at the pair of them before turning his attention to the road.

"Chaos worshipers," Emmaline whispered urgently, as though that had not been painfully apparent.

"What should we do, can we... I don't know report it to someone?" she asked. Theoretically the answer to that question was a simple one. Yes, report it to the witch-hunters but that ignored the fact that Emmaline herself was, by some definitions, a witch, and that Sigmar's Templars were not renowned for their careful sifting of the innocent from the guilty. As a practical matter what sifting did occur tended to be through the ashes after they pyres died down.